Snakes and Corpses
by illhousen
Summary: A collection of oneshots for Harry Potter.
1. Snakes and Corpses

AN:The final confrontation from the unwritten story wherein Voldemort's attempt to posses Harry at the end of fifth year resulted in them being locked in a surreal battle of minds, with illusory Hogwarts as a battlefield.  
Slight AU, with implied background changes and Voldemort's personality being tweaked a bit.

* * *

**Snakes and Corpses**

The chamber of Secrets was all that remained of Hogwarts. It, too, will soon be destroyed. The signs of decay were there already. Exposed pipes intervened above Harry's head, making him think of a circulatory system belonging to some great impossible beast bleeding water and rust from countless wounds.

The dead basilisk was slowly crawling on them without direction, ribs scratching against the metal.

There were cracks between pipes, and looking at them was like holding a mirror close to the face and staring right into your own pupil.

A man stood at the centre of the Chamber. His face was a bizarre collage of snake and human features bleeding into each other. He silently observed Harry coming closer and stopping near a spot of ink where the cursed diary was stabbed.

"You arrived," he said after a few moments of silence.

"There is nowhere else to go," said Harry.

The man nodded.

"Everything is as should be. The board is clear. Distractions eliminated. You stand alone against me."

"Not alone."

Once the words were said, the scene froze for a moment before continuing. It was different, however. Where before were only two people, now stood dozens. Ron, Hermione, Hogwarts students, Sirius, Remus, Weasleys - all whose memories Harry could conjure in a moment appeared by his side.

"I know they are only an illusion," Harry said. "But I also know they are with me now, in the real world, doing whatever they can to protect me."

The man waved his hand, and newly appeared people were revealed as corpses with rotting faces and filthy clothes. Their stomachs burst and snakes crawled from inside, hissing at Harry.

Harry took a step back. He knew it was not real, but it didn't help much. The gruesome scene and the smell of rotting flesh made him want to vomit. Instincts screamed at him to run away. Still, he stood in place.

"Your believe in them is the true illusion here," the man said. "Trusting people just invites them to reveal their true treacherous nature. Only when you force them to do something they hate can you be sure of your power."

"That is not true." Harry stepped closer to the assembly of corpses and felt a sharp pain as snakes started biting him. Yet, as the reality shifted again, abiding his will, the pain disappeared, and the corpses returned to their previous appearance. "They could've hurt me many times in the past. They didn't. They stood with me and they risked their lives for me."

The man smiled.

"Like Dumbledore?" he asked.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw the familiar figure of the Headmaster smiling at him reassuringly. Yet the hand of Dumbledore was withered and dead, and there was a feverish glint in his eyes. The grip on Harry's shoulder became painful, subtle pain slowly spreading through his body.

"He conspires your demise, you know," the man said casually. "You contain a part of me which he wants to erase. The only reason you are alive right now is because you served as a good distraction for me and my followers. That is the true nature of humans: they stand by you when they think you useful. Nothing more."

Harry was trembling. He tried to look at the familiar figures around him for reassurance, but as his concentration slipped, so did their faces. Yet he refused to try breaking the hold on his shoulder, refused to move. Gestures had power in this place, and he could not afford to lose.

"I trust Dumbledore," he said, trying to be firm. "He is the greatest wizard alive..."

"Now that Flamel is dead," said the man.

"...He will work it out. I bet he already has some plan in motion."

"Do you trust him to choose you above that Weasley boy?" asked the man.

"What?"

"Or Granger, or Longbottom, or countless other children. You are not unique in his eyes. Even if you assume his motives are pure, are you sure he will risk the lives of others to save yours? When there is a more simple solution at hand?"

"He is going to try and save us all."

"Even if prolonging your life risks their death?"

"Even then."

As the conversation progressed, the pain in Harry's shoulder lessened. He chanced a glance at Dumbledore, and he looked more like his normal self now.

"And yet he sacrificed Flamels," said the man.

The pain returned in one sharp burst, and Harry couldn't help his screaming.

"They..." he had to pause to steady his voice. "They agreed to it. They were at peace with dying."

"They weren't before he spoke to them."

"He spoke to them because you were the one trying to steal the Stone! You are responsible."

"Obviously. But the fact is, Dumbledore didn't try to save everyone, as you put it. Even if dying was Flamel's idea, he could take the Stone to save someone else. It could have restored my body with no need for the ritual. Do you think Arthur Weasley would still be dead if Dumbledore had the Stone at hand?"

"I trust him," said Harry after a long silence.

"Then I call you a fool," said the man.

The scene froze again. Everyone present disappeared except for the only two real people. More cracks appeared in the walls, one of them cutting the basilisk in two. Broken parts continued their slow crawl without a goal.

"If you don't believe in people, what do you believe in?" asked Harry eventually. His right hand was numb. He suspected there were cracks in it, too, but didn't dare to look. Instead, he looked around, settling his gaze on the statue of Slytherin watching them impassively. "Pureblood ideology?"

"Of course not," said the man. "I am a half-blood, after all. I have a first-hand proof of its foolishness. Purebloods were simply there, angry for the loss of power due to the war cutting through the old families, wishing to revive the old days. My Slytherin heritage was a stroke of luck, something that could appeal to them. Ideology is but a tool of control, nothing more."

"What do you care about? Hogwarts? Your younger self talked about how the school was the first true home you knew... Founders? You collected their artefacts..."

"I didn't, actually. It is something I wanted to do, but never had the time and dedication. They lived a thousand years ago, it's hard to rack down anything that belonged to them, especially given the amount of fakes around... As for the reason you ask, I do admit to youthful foolishness. Hogwarts was the first place where I could feel at ease. Sometimes, at least. And the founders fascinated me at the time. They were people who created all this, they were people who have given me home..."

For a moment, the castle was whole again. Cracks disappeared behind the thick walls, the Chamber looked like it was just build. There was no dirt, no water, no signs of decay.

The man looked around, silent.

"In the end, however, I realized my mistake," he said, returning the scene on the verge of collapse. "Every attachment you have is a chain binding you to the world and making you follow its laws. Breaking them is the only way to be free."

"So, you care about nothing?"

"Yes."

"What do you live for?"

"I am all I need."

"Then you have nothing to live for. Suppose you win, what are you going to do?"

"Live."

"For what? What are you planning to achieve? What do you want to build? How would you fill the eternity?"

The man was silent.

The scene froze for the third time. Cracks consumed the walls, exposing the pair to the darkness behind their closed eyelids.

"It has to end," said the man.

"Yes."

"You can still join me."

"After you told me not to trust anyone?"

"You can trust me to act in my own interests. Keeping you alive is beneficial to me. And, while obviously your freedom will be restrained, there is no particular reason to deny you worldly pleasures."

"Or you could put me into a coma to avoid troubles."

The man smiled.

"You can die instead, here and now. It will even work in favour of people you care about so much. Remove a troublesome piece from the board, spare Dumbledore from hard decision."

"You can die, too."

"I won't."

"Neither will I."

They stood in silence.

"It has to end," said Harry.

"Yes. Do you have a resolution in mind?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you take a leap of faith."

"What?"

"Step out, into the darkness."

"Why would I?"

"You have anything better to do?"

"Why should I do what you say?"

"Because you are supposed to trust people."

"Not you."

"It is a place of symbols. Jump, and maybe there will be hands to catch you. I will remain here, for there is certainly no hands to catch me."

"...You are imposing your rules. If I stay with you now, I'll admit defeat."

The man smiled.

"Yes. What are you going to do?"

Harry looked at the man's ever-shifting face. He looked around, at the slowly collapsing Chamber, at the dead and shredded basilisk still trying to crawl somewhere, at the water tainted with rust and at the now headless statue.

He slowly made his way to the edge of the world.

And then he took another step.

Everything went black.


	2. The Good News

**The Good News**

Harry opened a door and saw a girl reading a thick book with either a star or a tree on its cover - he wasn't sure which.

"Sorry, may I sit here?" he said after a moment of hesitation. "Everywhere else is full."

The compartments he checked before that one were indeed occupied by older students. Technically, they weren't full, but Harry didn't think the older kids would care much for his company.

"Sure," said the girl putting aside her book.

She waited for him to put his trunk into its place and sit opposite her before saying:

"My name is Daphne Greengrass. What's yours?"

"Harry Potter."

She smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. Have you heard the good news?"

Harry blinked.

"Ah... No?"

"Azkaban doesn't hate you!"

Harry considered that statement. He supposed it _were_ good news that someone didn't hate him.

"Who's Azkaban?"

Daphne's smile grew wider.

"Azkaban is the castle and the god beneath the castle, dead but dreaming, and the thoughts of the god made manifest which ignorant people call dementors. When the stars are right, Azkaban will awaken from its slumber, and the land of the dead will collide with the mortal world, and all will be devoured by Azkaban."

"Um," said Harry. "That's good news?"

"Of course!" Said Daphne excitedly. "It means that no matter what you do, it's all meaningless! It is the ultimate freedom, to know that everything you can accomplish will be futile in the end. Whether you are the first or the last, in the end you will be annihilated. There is no justice and no judgment. Azkaban will devour all not out of hatred or disgust, but because such is its nature."

"Um," said Harry again. "Is it some wizard thing? You see, I lived with my muggles relatives until now..."

"It's my family's thing," said Daphne. "Most wizards and witches don't respect the glorious message of Azkaban, though they still feed it souls of prisoners. But, you see, the death dreams of Azkaban sometimes bleed onto mortal plane, infecting minds of those sensitive to it, and it's very common in my family. Which is why we keep Grandpa in the attic now, though Mom says we will soon put him in the basement with Aunt Mary since he started growing gills." She took a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, because of that we feel the obligation to help other members of our community to better understand Azkaban and to spread its glorious message."

"Um," said Harry the third time.

Daphne smiled at him, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort.

"I am so glad you agreed to listen to the good news. You see, my parents warned me that kids in Hogwarts probably wouldn't appreciate the message because souls of many of their parents were devoured by Azkaban already during the last war. Which is silly because all souls will be devoured in the end, it's just a matter of time. So I was worried that they wouldn't listen to me or even try to curse me, but you listened, so thank you."

"Ah... sure," said Harry. "You are welcome."

Daphne's smile suddenly dropped.

"I might have forgotten some details, though. I am only learning this stuff myself, you know. Would you like to read pamphlets? Mom made them to spread around the school. They have more information. And pictures."

"Sure," said Harry.

Daphne smiled at him again.

"Give me a moment."

She rummaged through her trunk and produced a number of very colorful pamphlets which she handled to Harry.

He stared at them. They did indeed contain pictures. Someone must have tried very hard to turn something bleak and maddening and not quite real and far more real than a perfect world would allow into an illustration that would appeal to kids.

The attempt was not entirely successful.

"So many eyes..." whispered Harry.

"You get used to it after growing your fifth one," said Daphne.

Harry read the pamphlets for some time, trying not to look at the pictures too closely, least it would come to life. Daphne returned to her book.

_Definitely a tree_, thought Harry risking a glance at the cover.

Two boys opened the door to the compartment mere minutes apart from each other but, upon seeing Daphne, immediately closed it.

On the ride Harry and Daphne talked about many things: life, death, latest gossip from Witch Weekly which Harry found very confusing, Hogwarts classes and faceless shadow creatures that shall not be looked at directly.

They promised to meet for Sunday visions even if they would end up in different houses.

It wasn't how Harry imagined making his first friend, but he supposed with everything he knew and everything he didn't know being doomed to be devoured by an unfathomable god, it didn't truly matter.


	3. Don't Trust Your Thoughts

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**Don't Trust Your Thoughts**

(Don't Rest Your Head crossover)

Migraine was pulsing in synch with his heartbeat. Piercing pain set his scar aflame, then receded to a dull headache, slowly growing in intensity back. Wave after wave after wave, never stopping, never going away, never letting him forget, always there, punctuating every second of his life.

Harry took to sleeping in his cupboard again. It was his home for all of his childhood, and now, with his nerves burning, it was the only place he could get some rest, where noises of a sleeping house didn't cause his skin to crawl with terror.

Recently, however, he couldn't find peace even there.

In a dim light of a small lamp he borrowed, he read and reread Hermione's letter, and with each wave of migraine unwritten words bled onto paper, detailing Voldemort's campaign of terror, the fall of the Ministry, death of his friends. He knew it wasn't true. He knew it was a hallucination born from insomnia and his own fears. He couldn't stop reading.

In a corner of his eye he saw a shadow creeping towards him, and at some level he knew that if he did nothing, if he allowed the shadow to grow, it would consume him.

He put the letter on the floor and breathed deeply. He couldn't go on like that.

He couldn't get any sleep, same as the last three days, so he settled on getting some fresh air.

Stepping carefully around creaking floorboards, knowing each of them by now, he slipped out from the house. The night air took away the edge from his migraine, though, of course, it was still there, and once he adjusted to the change, he knew, it would be back in full force.

He wandered the streets aimlessly, trying not to think, trying to ride the waves of pain. He knew it was possible, sometimes he could almost achieve it, allowing the pain wash over him, allowing his thoughts to be shaped by its rhythm.

His efforts were forgotten when he walked into an alley he couldn't remember and found himself on an edge of a cliff observing an impossible sprawling city under the red skies cracked in half, the full moon gazing from the crack upon the world below like an eye of a great beast.

For a few moments he just stood there, not comprehending what he was seeing. It couldn't be real. It must be another hallucination, another symptom of his deteriorating mind.

A shadow moved on an edge of his vision, and when he turned to look, his face was suddenly full of paper. He struggled against it, fighting for air, and managed to drag it away.

It was a newspaper. He giggled at that revelation, but his breath was cut short when he noticed a headline.

"VOLDEMORT STRIKES AGAIN"

Under it in cursive was written, _"All of your friends are dead, Harry. Their ghosts write you letters."_

He dropped the newspaper. It couldn't be real. He must have gone mad.

The rate of migraine increased with the rate of his heartbeat.

He didn't want to deal with it.

He didn't want to think.

He didn't want to be.

His thoughts vanished, thoughts born of pain took their place, and the flesh followed, his skin growing thin and dry like parchment, his features melting into a new yet very familiar form, his eyes rolled in their sockets, devoured by something within him and spat out different. His mind convulsed for the last time, and the pain was gone.

Voldemort stood on the edge of a cliff, observing what was to be his new domain. Before that, however, there were other things warranting his attention.

His gaze fell on the newspaper, and he smiled.

* * *

AN: Harry's Madness Talent is to turn into Voldemort. The thing with newspaper is an attac Paper Boy who could define your future. Technically, it can be avoided, but it's not easy.


	4. A School of Witchcraft and Murder

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**A School of Witchcraft and Murder**

(Harry Potter/Assassination Classroom)

Harry was sitting at a Gryffindor table, looking at the teachers with curiosity. He was going to learn magic from them, so it was only natural to want to know what kind of people they were. Harry frowned. All of them seemed... tense. Nobody touched food or drinks yet, except a lady with large glasses who was gulping rather unsightly from a large goblet. Many had their hands hidden in sleeves or behind the folds of their robes. Professor Quirrell was openly twirling his wand.

All of them were looking at a figure at the head of their table, and Harry gasped when he focused on it and saw it clearly. For at the head of the table sat a creature with many yellow tentacles, each almost as long as its white beard, and a big round head with tiny black eyes.

"Who is it?" he asked Ron in a whisper.

"Oh, that's headmaster Dumbledore," Ron said. "I guess he might be imposing if you didn't know how he looks."

"Look closely," Percy said suddenly, leaning towards Harry and Ron. "Since it's your first feast, that should be interesting."

The headmaster stood up, preparing to address the students. The moment his back turned to the teachers' table, all of them cast spells at his direction. Harry was momentarily blinded by the multicolored light which engulfed the Great Hall. Once he could see again, however, the headmaster stood on the same place, seemingly unperturbed.

"Before we can start the most important part of the welcoming feast - enjoying the food - please allow me to say a few words to you all, and especially to those who walked into this fine school for the first time today," the headmaster said. "You have seven years left to kill me before I destroy the world. Please do your best. That would be all."

He waved a tentacle, and a variety of food and drinks appeared before the students. They applauded briefly before digging in. Harry, however, just sat there with mouth open. Looking around, he noticed that only Hermione had the same reaction.

Ron pushed him lightly.

"Food," he said. "Come on, it's going to disappear soon to make room for dessert. You don't want to miss it."

Harry blinked.

"Is the headmaster... mad?" he asked.

"Oh, definitely," Percy said. "But a brilliant mind all the same."

"So, he isn't going to destroy the world?" Harry felt it was an important matter to clarify.

"He is, actually," Percy said. Harry stared at him. "Ah, right, you grew up with muggles. Well, you can find all about it in the library tomorrow, but the short version is that once during the last war Headmaster Dumbledore and You-Know-Who were dueling in the Ministry building, and their fight took them to the Department of Mysteries. Nobody is quite sure what has happened there, but Headmaster emerged like that, no longer quite human, and went to destroy the Moon."

"Huh?"

"Right, muggles... What you see in the sky is an illusion. The Moon was gone for the last decade. So, afterwards he has disappeared for the rest of the war, but not long after You-Know-Who has died, he appeared again, took credit for the destruction of the Moon and proclaimed he is going to destroy the world eventually. Since then, many tried to kill him, but none succeeded. We are getting better with each year in it, though, and I have a good feeling about your stay in Hogwarts. I mean, you've defeated one powerful wizard already."

Harry stared at him some more.

"Why do they allow him to teach?" Hermione asked with a slight note of hysteria in her voice.

Percy shrugged. "Well, nobody managed to kill him yet, so not much we can do about it. Besides, he's brilliant at the job. You'll see."

* * *

"In this class, you will be studying a subtle art of potion brewing. There will be no foolish wand-waving, no frivolous spells other... teachers may feel inclined to teach you, no distractions from what is truly important for you all to learn. Poisons. Deadly and merely detrimental, liquid and gaseous, slow and fast, the ones that are mixed with food or drinks to hide them and the ones that taste and smell of nothing at all..."

Harry raised his hand.

Snape glared at him. "Ah, Mister Potter... Our new celebrity." There were a few laughs from the Slytherin side of the room.

"I have a question," Harry said, feeling exceptionally brave.

"I see that," Snape said. For a few moments, he remained silent, letting Harry to fidget on his sit. "And what that question may be, I wonder? Perhaps something worthy of interrupting a teacher?"

Harry gulped. "Well, sir, I was just wondering. What good are poisons against him? I mean, with his speed, the headmaster doesn't even need to eat at Hogwarts. Surely he won't simply let himself get poisoned?"

Snape sneered at him. "If you'd let me finish, Mister Potter, I would tell you that I am also going to teach you a subtle art of cooking. Not even the headmaster can resist my chocolate cakes, arsenic or not. Five points from Gryffindor for wasting my time."


	5. HP is for Hit Points

.

**HP is for Hit Points**

The door opened, and Daniel was immediately embraced in a tight hug by the Game master.

"Dan!" the Game Master bellowed. "Save me! You are my only hope!"

"Emma again?" Daniel asked after getting out of the smothering embrace and catching his breath.

"Yes," the Game Master proclaimed gravely. "I think she outdid herself this time."

Daniel shuddered.

"What about Rupert?" he asked. "Isn't he here yet?"

"I think he's lost his sanity to her. He keeps staring into space in some sort of daze and drooling slightly."

Daniel nodded.

Together they walked into the room where the table was set up for the planned game. There they met Rupert, who indeed was staring into space. He wasn't drooling, but his eyes were half-closed, as was typical when Emma was going on one of her rants. Emma herself was surrounded by numerous papers arranged in an arcane order and looked annoyed.

"Hi, Dan," she said before turning her gaze to the Game Master. "So, where was I? Ah, yes. So, it's a bit unclear whether the bonuses from Analytical Mind and Child Prodigy stack, or if the best of the two is used, and forums weren't any help. Honestly, you've picked such an obscure system, I'm surprised there is any support for it online... Anyway, I've send a question to the technical support, but they didn't answer yet, so for now I'm assuming they stack. There is a precedent in interaction between Parseltongue and Linguistics which supports that interpretation. While Linguistics is a skill and not an advantage, the formal relationship is similar enough to draw that conclusion, so if you don't object..."

"Hi, Emma," Daniel said loudly, interrupting the girl. She glared at him. "How long were you describing your build?"

"Why'd you ask?" she said defensively.

"We were over it before. You know the GM trusts you to do everything within the rules."

"I do," the Game Master agreed.

"So just hand the charsheet, and let's move on for now."

"But knowing the capabilities of my character is important!" she objected. "I mean, of course everything is done by the rules, barring some unclear stuff, but that's not the point! The point is, if the GM doesn't know what I can do, the challenges would be too easy, and all my work would be for nothing!"

"You know that the first session is going to be just some role-play," Daniel said.

"Yeah," the Game Master said. "I'll look over your charsheet later and adjust the challenges accordingly, so let's talk about your background for now, all right?"

"But..." Emma sighed in defeat. "Oh, fine. Honestly, guys, sometimes I can't understand your priorities."

She handed her papers over to the Game Master, who looked over them briefly.

"No Virtue above two?" the Game master said rising an eyebrow.

"Well, duh," Emma said. "Otherwise I'd had to roll every time I wanted to take a "morally questionable" action and hope I'd fail so as not to make an objectively sub-optimal move. It's such a frustrating rule."

"But they are useful sometimes," the Game master said. "Especially Valor. With low Valor, you may easily find yourself frozen in fear during a battle encounter."

"Oh, please." Emma rolled her eyes. "I'd just spend a Willpower point. They are easy to restore as long as you have some party members to support you, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Unknown to Emma, the Game Master smirked maliciously.

"Very well," the Game Master said. "So, your background."

"Right," Emma said. "Ah... Give me that for a second." She pointed out at her papers. The Game Master handed them to her, and she spent a few moment rummaging through them. "Right, so I'm a muggleborn, which is a prerequisite for Analytical Mind. My name is Hermione Granger. Low Appearance."

The Game Master looked at her for a few moments, waiting for her to continue. "And?" the Game Master said when it became clear she was done.

"And that's it?" Emma said. "I mean, what more do you want? We play as kids, so there isn't much to say about Hermione. Given the advantages and skills I've picked, I guess she's a stereotypical bookworm, only without glasses since her Perception is good."

"Well, what about your parents?" the Game master asked.

"Oh." Emma waved dismissively. "They are dead."

"Again?" the Game Master asked. Emma shrugged. "Oh, for the... You are an twelve year old kid."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, without parents you are going to be send to an orphanage..."

"Foster care," Daniel said. "The game takes place in nineteenth, so it's foster care, not orphanages."

"Yes, yes," the Game Master said. "Foster home. With no less than five siblings." Emma blanched. "Actually, it's not a bad thing... I can make one of them magical as well, with her own sub-plot..."

"Oh, fine!" Emma shouted. "So, I do have parents. They are perfectly ordinary people. I don't know, dentists. They are loving but distant figures mostly staying away from the magical business and letting me make my own decisions. Satisfied?"

"What are their names?" the Game Master asked.

"How should I know?"

"You've created them."

"Yes, and I give them to you. You come up with something."

The Game Master sighed. "Look, I was meaning to talk with you about it... You are great at handling the system, and you even create characters not too powerful for me to deal with, but the game is more than that. You see, the attitude your demonstrate in regards to your character's parents..."

"Look," Emma interrupted, "they are muggles. And they game is about mages mostly living in their own little world. Can you come up with something important for my parents to do?" The Game Master opened mouth. "That doesn't involve them being hostages or puppets of the bad guys?" The Game Master closed mouth.

"Point," the Game Master said grudgingly. "Fine, we'll leave it at that, and I'll come up with a role for them later... eventually. Now, Dan, what about your character?"

"Right." Daniel pulled a few papers from his bag and handed them to the Game Master. "My name is Harry Potter, I'm a half-blood, and my parents are dead." The Game Master groaned. "They were killed by the Dark Lord Voldemort. He disappeared right afterwards, and I have a weird scar from the event."

The Game Master looked at Daniel with awe. "You... you actually read the setting's history?"

Daniel shrugged sheepishly.

"All right," the Game Master said. "I can work with it. You'd need to buy Fame background, the disappearance of the Dark Lord would be attributed to you."

"Did already," Daniel said. "And since Voldemort is most likely still alive, I've bought Nemesis disadvantage as well."

"Actually, that's not necessary..." the Game Master said. "But keep it anyway. Throw in Unknown Talents at ten points as well, for free. I now have plans for it." The Game Master made a note on Daniel's papers. "Now, since you are an orphan, I assume you live in a mage foster home? Wait, no, mages still use orphanages since they are stuck in Ye Olde Times."

"No," Daniel said. "I was actually thinking about wicked relatives of my mother, muggles. They hate magic and stuff, so I won't be sorry leaving them behind. Also explains why I don't have Common Knowledge."

"As well you shouldn't," Emma said. "Useless skill. All its important benefits are mirrored by Academics anyway, and it doesn't even enhance your casting ability."

"Right," the Game Master said. "I've got the gist, and the details can be hammered down later. Rupert? Hey, Rupert?" The Game Master waved a hand before Rupert's face, snapping him out of his daze.

"Wah?" Rupert said, blinking.

"Your character, Rupert."

"Oh, right." Rupert was surrounded by nearly as much paper as Emma, though his was notoriously lacking in integrals. He arranged the papers carefully, taking a few looks at it before starting. "So, my name is Ron Weasley. I'm a pureblood and a sixth child in a magical family. I have five older brothers, here are their descriptions, and a younger sister. All of my brothers are talented in their own right, in a variety of areas, and my sister is the one receiving the most attention from my parents due to being the youngest and a girl, unlike the rest of Weasley siblings. That resulted in a strong feeling of inadequacy. I want to get out from the shadow of my family, but lack direction, especially since my only prominent talent is playing chess, which I don't regard as particularly important, so..."

"Wait!" Emma said. "Give it to me!" She snatched Rupert's papers from the Game Master and quickly looked over them before giving Rupert a pitying look. "Oh, you poor thing," she said, patting Rupert on a shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll... I'll make it all better. Just need to make a few adjustments..."

"Wait, no!" Rupert shouted, trying to snatch his papers back. "It's all the way I want it to be!"

"But it's horrible!" Emma shouted back, refusing to give up the papers. "Pureblood background is a prerequisite for some neat skills like Metamorphagus, but you don't have them, and they are useful only if you build your whole character around them! You are better off with half-blood, since they get the best boost to raw power, or muggleborn, for Analytical Mind if you want versatility. You have plenty of junk skills and no skills above average rating! And Chess?! It counts as complex skill, making it twice as expensive, despite having very little application in actual game! Please, let me fix you!"

"But that's the point! Ron is average! He is overshadowed by everyone around him and would need to work hard to be useful and see himself as worth anything! I want to explore that conflict!"

"But..."

"That's enough, Emma!" the Game Master said firmly. "Rupert has a good concept, and I'm sure Ron will be useful even without optimization."

Emma sighed. "Fine, I guess. One of those days I should give you guys characters of my own creation. Seriously, you should try it. You'll be addicted to the power in no time."

"All right," the Game Master said. "But not today. Now, I've got the gist of your characters. The first session would be just a warm up with no serious conflicts, just testing the waters, so let's start it already." Everyone sat more comfortably, arranging the papers to clear the center of the table and preparing to listen to the Game Master. "So, the three of you meet in a mage tavern called Leaky Cauldron. The bartender, an old man called Tom Riddle, tells you the rumors about a dreadful dark cult of Death Eaters..."

"Wait," Rupert said. "We are kids, right?"

"Yeah?" the Game Master said, annoyed at the interruption.

"So, why would we be told about a dreadful cult? And why are we in a tavern instead of school or something?"

"The tavern is actually an entrance into the magical world, so even kids attend it. And there are reasons why you three are told this story. Besides, would you rather role-play going to school?"

"Point," Rupert said.


	6. Blinding Light

**Blinding Light**

"Welcome," Dumbledore said with a glint in his eyes. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Where we are going, we don't need eyes."

**Harry Potter/Event Horizon**

* * *

AN: Hemingway I'm not.


	7. Life is Strange

.

**Life is Strange**

Harry watched as the dark figures in strikingly-white masks filled the graveyard. He struggled against his bonds, but it was futile.

"At last, we are united once again," Voldemort said when it became clear no more people were coming. "It's been far too long since my last appearance, but your wait is finally over. I see not all of you made it here, but it doesn't matter. Prisoners will be let free, dead remembered and traitors dealt with. We, however, have more pressing matters to discuss. Do you know why I summoned you here?"

"My Lord," one of the figures said, "we are ready to follow you once again. This time, Britain will fall before you."

"I thought so too," Voldemort said, nodding. "Then I changed my mind. No, Lucius, we will not continue our... crusade from a decade ago, for my recent experiences gave me a certain revelation." Voldemort started to walk back and forth before the assembled figures, wand pointed to the skies. "Before my... untimely demise I've made a great deal of plans. Good plans that were coming to fruition, the victory almost in my hands. Then..." He pointed at Harry. "...a prophecy forced me to go after a child. And even though I easily defeated his parents and was ready to kill him, he was the one to survive while I was sent into Oblivion - a bare white room with a single black dot on the wall that was this world. It took me a decade to crawl back to life. But, of course, I didn't lose hope and devised a cunning plan to get my body back... Which was thwarted once again by that child. It took me two more years before I managed to regain my body with the help of our friend Peter here whom Potter spared and Potter himself." Voldemort stopped walking around and spread his arms towards to the figures. "What does it teach us?"

Silence lingered on the graveyard.

"It teaches us," Voldemort said, unperturbed, "that life is absurd. Careful planning, perfect execution - all gone into the drain because of one child too young to talk! What good is it to pursue a grand goal, to reshape a country in my image, when all can be brought low by a fluke of Fate? And..." He turned to Harry. "...what good is it to rely on "the power of love," as good old Dumbledore would put it, when your kindness can bring back your worst enemy? No, logic and reason have no place in this world! We must accept and celebrate that simple truth! Death Eaters are dead. Long live the Brotherhood of Dada!"

The assembled figures clapped uncertainly.

"Um... Far it from me to question you, my Lord," one of them said. "And, of course, we are still willing to follow you, but... what exactly are we to do being the Brotherhood of Dada?"

"Why, I am glad you asked!" Voldemort said, smiling. "Our first act will be to steal Paris."

* * *

AN: Inspired by Doom Patrol.


	8. Advanced Chess

AN: Thought about updating traps from the Philosopher's Stone to a more serious overall tone. Less whimsical challenges for the heroes to overcome, more actual traps meant to stop intruders...

That just so happened to be destroyed by Quirrelmort before the trio arrived, so only remnants of the traps await them, simple enough even for the first years to overcome.

Here is one of them:

* * *

**Advanced Chess**

Harry entered the room, prepared for anything but what awaited him inside.

Corpses littered the floor. Corpses of people he recognized. Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell, Hooch, Filch, Dumbledore himself - all of them were there, reduced to broken shapes twisted in ways no human should be, parts of them scattered, innards intertwined...

Harry's vision started to go dark at the edges, his hearing was overcome by the sound of blood rushing to his head, and so it took a few moments for him to register that Hermione stepped closer to one of... one of the figures in the room and was saying something.

"What?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Dolls," she repeated. "They're just broken dolls." Her own voice was shaking slightly.

Harry blinked dumbly a few times before focusing on the figures on the floor closer and sighing with relief.

There was no blood, no gore, just pieces of broken ceramics along with straps of fabric and leather belts. It wasn't surprising that he was fooled, however. The craftwork was masterful. Even broken, the dolls perfectly resembled people they were modeled after, their faces uncannily lifelike if devoid of any emotion.

"Merlin's beard," Ron said. "That's creepy. Do you figure Snape did it?"

Hermione sniffed. "Professor Snape is a potions master. I don't think his trap would revolve around... this."

"I dunno." Ron shrugged. "Making dolls that look like other teachers just so he could smash them when he went after the Stone seems like something he'd do."

"I'm just glad they're all broken, unlike the previous room," Harry said. Hermione and Ron winced.

"True enough," Ron said. "Should we go then?"

Harry and Hermione nodded, and together the trio started to make their way to the other side of the room where a door could be seen, mindful not to step on the doll parts.

However, now that they were walking in silence and he wasn't distracted by the sound of his own heartbeat, Harry became aware of a sound on the edge of his awareness, a simple melody. As he strained his hearing, he thought that a voice accompanied it.

_Vivimus in somnus. Solitari putris in inferos.  
Hodie mea obiit die, et mea natus die. Te obire._

"Can you hear it?" he asked, gesturing to his friends to stop.

"Hear what?" Ron asked.

Hermione shushed him, and the trio was perfectly silent for a few moments.

_Mea anima immortalitas. Autem mea futura necataeram.  
Manes sum. Animae definire ambiguus est.  
Te odi, et te amo. Conveniebamus in somnium ipsa._

Now that Harry concentrated on the voice, he thought he recognized it. The precise pronunciation untouched by age or any accent could have belonged only to Professor McGonagall. He frowned, trying to reconcile the image of a strict but kind professor with the bizarre display around him, but his train of thought was interrupted by Hermione.

"I think it's coming from there," she said, pointing at a corner to the right of the door to the next room, where a doll with Snape's face and without legs was propped against a wall. Its eyes stared at them, though it made no movement that they could see.

"Figures," Ron said, readying his wand.

"I don't think it's going anywhere," Harry said.

"Better be sure," Ron said. "Let's levitate something heavy over it - like other dolls - and drop it. Like with the troll."

Hermione shook her head. "I think it's better not to disturb it. Or other dolls, for that matter. Let's just go."

"Right," Harry said. "We don't have much time. Snape could have already got the Stone, for all we know."

Ron nodded, but kept his wand pointed at the doll.

The trio continued their slow trail as the melody continued to play.

_Proximum mihi neglegentia. Omnia nos peccatoribus,  
et omnia nos homos, et omnia nos peccatores.  
Venite mea domus. Luto similis somnium,  
et pulvi similis cottidie. Cordem privo._

The doll continued to follow them with its gaze but still made no movement as they finally reached the door.

Ron relaxed slightly and turned to address the others.

"Hey, do you figure Snape only broke its legs because he couldn't-"

_JUDICARE TIBI_

That was a moment when the melody suddenly grew loud and the doll's arm stretched impossibly, a concealed mechanism unwinding and sending it hurling through the air at Ron.

Ron cried in surprise and pain as he was thrown to the floor, and Harry heard an audible crack.

Harry stepped in front of Ron and thrown a jinx at the doll, but it didn't react in any way.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_" He heard Hermione's voice behind him and saw another broken doll starting to float at the same time as Ron shouted, "My wand!"

Harry chanced a look back, and with relief saw that Ron appeared to be fine, standing up already. Only his wand was broken, the remnants clutched pitifully in his hand.

The glance cost him dearly as when he looked back at the doll, he had only a moment to react to its eyes glowing red and sending two small ruby-red balls of magic emanating malice his way.

He couldn't do anything, and a curse struck him right in the chest, sending him to the floor, his wand rolling away, lost in the debris. Immediately, he could feel strength evaporating from his body, as if he were forced to run a whole marathon in a second. He tried to rise, but he could barely feel his limbs. His breathing became fast and shallow, and it took all his effort just to stay conscious.

With detachment born out of weakness, he watched as Hermione finally maneuvered broken parts she was levitated above the doll and dropped them, only for the doll to dodge, twisting impossibly.

_Nemo mea funus meminit, cui dolet exstinctus.  
Initio erraveramus. Dum vivimus doloris.  
Nemo juvarem est._

The doll circled around them. It had no legs, but it had four arms, even if one of them was trailing uselessly on the floor, its mechanism broken, which allowed the doll to move around like a grotesque spider.

Hermione levitated more object at it, but each time it would jump away, occasionally sending more curses their way and forcing Hermione and Ron to dodge. Fortunately, it had seemed to lost interest in Harry now that he was lying on the floor.

"Hey, mate, are you still with ask?" Ron asked worriedly while the doll was preoccupied with another barrage of objects.

"Need... a minute," Harry said breathlessly. The effects of the curse seemed to lessen, but he still hesitated trying to stand up. "We're... at the door. Maybe... just rush it?"

"Can't risk whatever's on the other side while that thing is behind us," Ron said, watching the doll creeping closer before being forced to dodge Hermione's attack again. "With our luck, it would be Snape himself."

"Damn," Harry said after a moment.

"Yeah." Ron chuckled.

"What... do we do?"

Ron looked between Harry, Hermione and the doll, chewing his lip. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. When he opened them, they were filled with resolve.

"You stay here. I'll... handle it," he said before letting go of Harry and running at the doll with a wild cry.

"Ron!" Harry shouted in alarm, and Hermione stopped in her tracks, nearly dropping another pile of broken parts she was levitating.

The doll's attention switched to Ron immediately, and two curses flew his way. He dodged them by dropping to the ground, and when he stood, there was the doll's useless stretched arm in his hands.

"You're not going anywhere now!" he shouted, tugging the arm at himself.

Instead of trying to struggle, the doll jumped at Ron and clutched him in its good arms.

Surprisingly, Ron managed to stay without any visible effort and gave a few punches to the doll's face, breaking its until then pristine surface, before going after its joints with one hand and clutching its hair in another, making it hard for the doll to aim its cursed gaze. But with each passing moment his struggles grew weaker, his posture unsteady, his breathing more rugged.

_Intellectum non necessitas.  
Et pius non necessitas.  
O nostrum essentia auferati eramus.  
Ratio figur tantum est.  
Doloris initim encephalon._

Ron fell on one knee. Harry still couldn't do anything. He managed to stood up, but his legs were shaking, his breathing still uneven. Hermione dropped her pile of broken parts and moved to stand behind the doll, but she didn't cast any spells. With Ron so close to it, there was no guarantee she wouldn't just hit him.

_Iis salvatio. Iis salvatio. Iis salvatio._

But the doll took its share of damage as well. Gathering his last strength, Ron managed to break a doll's arm under the stretched one, freeing himself. He hurled the doll away from him, and it was unable to stand up on two good limbs.

"Now, Hermione!" he shouted before falling to the floor.

Hermione didn't waste any time.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_" she shouted, and the broken doll with the face of Dumbledore came down on their adversary. Limbs twitched and went still.

To make sure, Hermione levitated the broken doll a few more times before dropping it again and again, and with each strike the melody became more jumbled, words stuttering where once they were clear.

_Intel-Intellectum non... necessitas, et-et pius non necessitas.  
Oooo nos-nostrum essentia auferati eram... us,  
Rat-Rat-Ratio figur tan... tum esssst. Doloris-is-is initim ence... phalon._

Iis... salvatio...

Until finally it stopped.

After that, Hermione ran to Ron and fell on her knees beside him, clutching him by the shoulders, while Harry slowly made his way towards them.

"Of all the stupid, irresponsible, insane things-" Hermione shouted until Ron slowly rose his hand and breathed deeply, his lips moving in an attempt trying to say something.

Harry and Hermione had to strain in order to hear him.

"Couldn't... do magic," Ron said. "Had... to do something. Figured it was... light, with all... all the jumping around. Probably... maybe not sturdy." He grinned faintly. "Worked."

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, immediately feeling stupid for the question. "I mean, did the doll hit you with that spell?"

Ron shook his head.

"No, made sure... to keep its eyes away." His own eyes closed before he finished the sentence.

"Ron! Hey, Ron!" Harry shouted, shaking him up. "It's not funny, mate!"

"It's the melody," Hermione said slowly, forcing Harry to look at her. "It's a curse. Like what Professor Snape did to your broom, Harry... Except it was cursing itself, creating a, a sort of miasma around its body that would siphon your strength if you got near..."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"I read about it after the broom incident, wanted to know what we should expect."

"Is Ron... I mean, is it dangerous?"

Hermione looked at Ron for a long moment.

"He should be fine," she said unconvincingly. "It just siphons your strength, but you can restore it with rest... I mean, you're fine, right?"

Harry nodded. He still felt weak, but he could stand, he could move. He wasn't... getting worse.

"So," Hermione said, still looking at Ron, "what now?"

Harry sighed. "Now we go ahead."

"We can't just leave him here!" Hermione glared at him.

"We can't just leave the Stone to Snape, either!" Harry shouted.

"Well, what can we even do?" Hermione spat. "We were nearly killed by a half-broken doll, and the thief defeated half a dozen of them fully functional!"

"We'll... figure something out," Harry said in a calmer tone. "It's just... Ron sacrificed himself for us. I don't... If we don't go, it would be like betraying him."

Hermione was silent for a long moment before sighing.

"Alright," she said. "It's not like we can go back, anyway." Both of them shuddered. "But if we both die there, I'll... I'll... I'll report you to Professor McGonagall!"

Harry chuckled. "She'd probably assign us detention for the rest of our afterlife."

They shared a brief laugh, and if it were nigh-hysterical, neither of them said anything about it.

With heavy hearts, two kids walked towards the next door, leaving their unconscious friend behind.

* * *

AN: So, something like that. Other traps can be modified accordingly.

The moral of this story is simple: _don't ever fuck with McGonagall._

Latin mantra was stolen from the Witch of the Holy Night, along with the creepy puppet itself. I have no idea how legit it is, but it sounds cool enough. Below is an artistic translation:

I am alive in slumber. I am rotting alone in the ground.  
Today is the day I died, and was born. Now, I am coming to see you.

Though my life is unending, my future has been killed.  
I am a ghost. The very definition of my existence is uncertain.  
I both hate you and adore you. Let us meet in a dream.

Forsaken by those around me,  
we were all of us guilty.  
We are sinners. Welcome to my home,  
sink into death. Become dust and whispers. Gouge out my missing heart.

I WILL KILL YOU.

Nobody remembers my funeral. Nobody is left to mourn me.  
From the beginning we were all mistaken. Life is naught but pain.  
Somebody save me.

Intellect was unnecessary.  
Piety was a burden.  
Oh, our essence was strife.  
Rationality was an afterthought.  
The source of pain was the brain.

Grant us salvation. Grant us salvation. Grant us salvation.


End file.
